


Field Season

by MsCee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Human, Basically a 6000 word excuse for porn, College Student Stiles, Conservation Biologist Derek, Derek and Erica are BFFs forever, Everyone is Alive and Nothing Hurts, Humor, I know I have a problem, M/M, Professor Derek, Snark, Teacher-Student Relationship, Wolf biologist Derek, Zoology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsCee/pseuds/MsCee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale is content with his life as full-time academic and official department hermit, and he's not going to let the likes of Stiles Stilinski change that. Hell, he's not even going to <i>think</i> about Stiles Stilinski, because that way madness lie.<br/>Well, madness is an inevitable outcome of thinking about Stiles, but the madness of trying to not murder him is less traumatic than that of acknowledging that half of his infuriation stems from the quirk of Stiles’s bowed lips and the distraction of his long fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his notebook.<br/>Woah now, he’s firmly stuck in madness territory.<br/>Pull it together, Hale. </p><p>(Or, wherein Derek is a professor, Stiles is a summer fellowship student at the wolf sanctuary, Erica is the worst enabler to ever enable, and then they do the sex)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Season

**Author's Note:**

> GUYS I will forever have a thing for field biologist Derek in goddamned khaki shirts and hiking boots because it's FIELD SEASON and I'm only HUMAN.

“So, I think I might have messed up.”

Derek massages his temples and prays for the strength to survive the next five minutes without killing his student.

“What did you do?” He grits out, eyes still closed. If he looks at the kid, he’ll snap. He knows he’ll snap, because he has been on the verge of wringing Stiles's neck for the past week already.

“I might have forgotten to press record?”

“And by might have, you mean-”

“Oh, yeah, I definitely forgot to press record. Though, to be honest, I’m really only telling you as a formality, because I don’t need the recording anyway.”

Derek’s jaw twitches, and he pries his eyes open.

“You don’t need the recording?” He parrots, eying the little shit warily. Goddamned kid looks almost smug, and fuck if it doesn’t suit him.

“I got all the data right here,” Stiles informs him with a cocksure smile, waving around the notebook in his hands. He pats the book fondly, letting out a ridiculous little sigh, before his eyes turn back to Derek. “Anyway, Erica told me I had to tell you, so, here I am.”

Derek exhales heavily.

“I don’t trust my grad students to collect data without a camera. Why do you think I should trust you to collect data without a camera?”

Stiles shrugs, frowning for a second before his face clears and the mischief is back in his honey-brown eyes. Derek’s jaw twitches again as he forces himself to reroute his thoughts from his student’s eyes. That way madness lie.

Well, madness was an inevitable outcome of talking to Stiles, but the madness of trying to not snarl at Stiles’s sarcasm was less traumatic than that of acknowledging that half of his infuriation stemmed from the quirk of Stiles’s bowed lips and the distraction of his long fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his notebook.

Woah now, he’s firmly stuck in madness territory. Pull it together, Hale.

“It’s unusable. Which group was it?”

“Wait, hold on!” Stiles’s frown is back, the corners of his mouth tugging down. “It’s good data!”

“Mr. Stilinski.” Derek holds up a hand to stop Stiles’s excuses before they start. “Do you know why we use cameras here?”

“Because most people aren’t fast enough to take behaviors while they observe ‘em, and use the recordings as a crutch to get lazy and zone out while staring at the wolves?”

Derek snorts, and levels Stiles with his best professor stare.

“What? That’s the truth. But me? I can do it. I know those puppies like the back of my hand. D’you know that Isaac still can’t tell the difference between Gilbert and Grape? But I can. So, camera not needed.”

“Even if that were true, Mr. Stilinski,” Derek interrupts, feeling even more infuriated because it probably  _is_ true, dammit. Isaac is great at a lot of things, but identifying the wolves is not one of them. Three years into his PhD, and Isaac still needs recorded tapes and reference sheets to pull any semblance of good data from his behavioral observations. “I could only verify your reliability if  _I_ had a tape to check your observations against.”

“Ha!” Stiles crows in triumph, punching a fist through the air and smiling widely at Derek. “We can work with that. You could go back into any of my tapes from earlier. I usually – ” Stiles cuts himself off, pulls a face, and slaps a hand to cover his eyes. “Oh, shit.”

Derek says nothing, but quirks an eyebrow. Of course there is an ‘oh shit’. It’s Stiles he’s dealing with, after all.

“I, uh, I erased my video files last night.”

Derek closes his eyes.

Counts to ten.

Opens his eyes.

“Are you aware that the fellowship you are here on is highly competitive?” Derek asks, barely restraining himself from steepling his fingers on top of his desk. That might be overkill. He kind of wants to, though, just to see if he can make Stiles sweat. He bets he can. Sweat, and blush, and maybe beg a –

Nope, nope, nope. Pull it back, Hale. Not going there.  _Never_ going there.

“I deserve it, though. I earned it.”

Derek inclines his head, acknowledging the point.

“But you can lose it as surely as you won it, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Uh, no, I can’t.”

“Wanna bet?” Derek smirks. It’s totally childish. Stiles is right, he can’t actually lose his summer research fellowship, nor would Derek ever try to take it. For all he’s an annoying shit, Erica says he's good at what he does, and a quicker study than some of the post-docs at the sanctuary.

In fact, that makes him even  _more_ annoying.

If Stiles were hapless, or just arrogant like the Whittemore kid who won the fellowship last summer, Derek would have no trouble dressing him down and dismissing him. There is a reason that most students steer clear of Derek’s office. And it wasn’t because he tried to stare them down with his eyebrows,  _thank you very much Erica._

“Uh, Dr. Hale?” Stiles is rocking back on his heels, looking at Derek inquisitively. “You’ve got kind of… Uh… A face right now. Are you going to kick me out of the program?”

“I always have a face, Mr. Stilinski,” Derek snarks, annoyed at the implication that he is looking at Stiles while feeling a bizarre mishmash of annoyed, impressed, entertained, and furious. That would be ridiculous. “You’ll find that most people do, indeed, have faces.”

Stiles has the gall to roll his eyes. He should fail the twerp just for his insubordination.

“Yeah, yeah, someone’s got his clever pants on,” Stiles waves a hand at Derek dismissively. Which, what? Stiles isn’t allowed to dismiss Derek. This situation is way out of hand.

“Mr. Stilinski, I don’t know what I have done to suggest that you may address me this casually, but whatever it was, it was definitely unintentional.” Derek snaps, needing this conversation to be over and for Stiles to get out of his office so he can bury his head in manuscript revisions and completely deny any and all misplaced interest in one of his barely-legal students.

Stiles shirks back, looking sheepish.

“Um. Yeah. Sorry, I – ”

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you, Mr. Stilinski. The data you collected today will  _not_ be used in your analyses. Please leave your notebook here, so I can destroy the records.”

Stiles goes from sheepish to distraught in ten seconds flat. Derek almost feels bad, but he has to nip this situation in the bud before it gets too far out of control.

“But, Dr. Hale – ”

“No buts, Mr. Stilinski.” Derek interrupts him, holding his hand out for Stiles’s notebook. Stiles hesitates before he hands it over, his eyes wide. He opens his mouth and closes it again, twice, before tucking his hands into his pockets and storming out of Derek’s office without so much as a glance behind him.

As soon as the door slams shut, Derek exhales heavily and lets the notebook drop onto his desk. His hands are trembling, and he can’t for the sake of him figure out why.

 _You know why_ , he can almost hear Erica taunt him. Jesus Christ, he needs to spend less time with his grad students.

Their voices are annoying enough in person, let alone in his head.

 

*

 

The next morning, Derek gets to the breakfast room before anyone else, Stiles’s notebook completely forgotten under a pile of data sheets and grant proposal drafts. He grabs a mug, fills it up with the camp’s slightly sour coffee that he has long given up trying to improve with milk and sugar, and sits down at his usual chair, waiting for his students to file in.

Boyd is first, as per usual, nodding to Derek as he passes through to the kitchen for a plate of pancakes and freshly cut fruit salad. God  _damn_ , the students here are spoiled. Derek remembers when he did his dissertation, and he lived on tinned beans and dry toast off of a camp stove for nearly six months.

He doesn’t hesitate to inform Boyd of as much, as soon as he sits down.

“Barefoot in the snow both ways, huh, boss?” A voice sounds from behind him. Erica sits down next Boyd, giving him a quick kiss before tucking into her own plate of pancakes.

“I’m just saying that if I had had the luxury of using a video camera, I wouldn’t have  _complained_ about it,” Derek grouses.

“I thought we were talking about breakfast?” Boyd mumbles around a mouthful of pancakes.

“My point  _is_ , you should all consider yourself lucky to be at the sanctuary instead of the middle of nowhere,” Derek continues. Erica snickers, and Derek shoots her a dirty look.

“Don’t worry baby, this has nothing to do with your breakfast,” Erica informs Boyd, patting him on the arm. “It’s all about Dr. Emotional-constipation being unable to handle his Stilinski feelings.”

“ _Erica!_ ” Derek hisses, looking pointedly at the open door leading to the sanctuary’s dormitory rooms.

“Relax, everyone else is still asleep, your worst-kept-secret of a crush is safe with us.”

“Oh, are we talking about Derek’s feelings already?” Isaac chimes in, approaching the table with his breakfast.

“We’re not talking about anything,” Derek snaps.

“Hey, you’re the one who wants us up half an hour before the undergrads. We’ve gotta fill that time with conversation. You make your bed, you lie in it.”

“If you think that annoying me incessantly will make me reverse that rule, you’re sorely mistaken. None of you are that annoying.”

“Well shit, Stilinski’s really raised the bar, hasn’t he?” Isaac asks coolly, eyebrow cocked.

“If one of you doesn’t change the subject in the next five seconds, I will gladly change it to your TA performance reviews. They just came in last night.”

Derek isn’t satisfied by the audible gulp of his three grad students.

He isn’t.

That would be terribly unprofessional of him.

“Uh, I was thinking I’d do some fecal collection today, Derek.” Boyd announces, effectively changing the conversation when Isaac loudly interjects that it was his turn to do sample collection.

“No, I want Boyd on it, so he’s free this afternoon to observe Maika. I think she’s going to give birth any day now. I’d like a student watching her at all times just in case. Isaac, you can do social interaction today, pick an adult female focal. Erica, I won’t even bother, since I know you’re just going to delegate it to an undergrad and collect for your thesis anyway.”

“You know me too well, bossman,” Erica smiles while Isaac continues to grumble about hating focal data. Which, yeah, Derek knows he does, which is why Isaac will be stuck doing it until he stops channeling that dislike into sloppy data. His grumbling is interrupted by the first surge of students into the dining hall, led by Scott McCall, the floppy haired vet student (and Stiles's best friend, Derek’s mind supplies) and Allison Argent, a vet tech with an uncanny knack for darting wolves with frightening accuracy. Normally, Scott is flanked by Allison and Stiles, but Derek can’t see the other boy anywhere in the kitchen. He scowls. Stiles is probably sleeping in, because the kid can’t follow direction to save his life.

“McCall!” Derek growls out before he can think twice about it. Scott jumps half a foot in the air, nearly dropping his plate.

“Yes, professor?”

“Where is Stiles?” Derek demands.

“He’s, uh. He’s not feeling well, sir?”

“Seriously? He was fine last night, McCall. Go tell Stiles I’m done with his shit, and if he doesn’t report to my office by 9am sharp, I  _will_ see him sent home by the end of the week.”

“Last night, eh?” Erica leers when Derek stalks back to his chair and sits down heavily, totally done with Stiles’s antics.

“Yeah, when Stiles came in to tell me that he’d botched at least a full day worth of data collection.”

Erica shrugs, looking nonplussed.

“We’ve all done worse, and you know it. You’ve gotta stop being so rough on the kid just because you can’t deal with your own feelings.”

“Now isn’t the time or place for this discussion,” Derek grinds out. He downs the rest of his coffee in a single gulp, and then pushes up from the table. “I’m going to get work done in my office. Alone.”

He strides out of the dining hall, but Erica is hot on his heels, waiting until they’re both in his office to pick up exactly where she left off.

“Look, you’re attracted to Stilinski. He’s an adult. He’s 22 for God’s sake! That’s not even 10 years younger than you. Just because you’re a prof now doesn’t mean you’re suddenly too old for anyone, you big grump.”

Derek sighs and scrubs a hand across his face.

“You know how you continuously overstep your bounds, Erica?”

“Sure. We can talk about that if you want. But it’s not gonna mean we stop talking about the Stilinski situation. Look, you’re only a few years older than me, and I knew you when you were nothing but a lowly grad student. You’re never gonna be scary to me, and I know you too well to think you’re actually as much of a dick as you pretend.”

“I’m not going to sleep with my student.”

Erica grins.

“I didn’t say you were. Stiles  _isn’t_ your student. He’s a fellowship student, which means he’s technically doing an independent study for the university. Not for you. There you go, conflict of interest resolved.”

“Erica, this needs to stop. Even if I wanted to, I could never make the first move. That would be a huge abuse of power. And since Stiles thinks of me as that hard ass – ” Derek cuts himself off and waits for Erica to finish snorting with laughter, “As I was saying, he’d never do that. Ergo, it’s  _not_ going to happen. Besides, the kid doesn’t need another excuse to do sloppy work here and think he can get away with it. He’s a disaster as is, and that’s with me playing the villain role in his life.”

Erica cocks her head at him, scrutinizing him.

“You’ve never actually looked at Stiles’s work, have you?” She asks curiously.

“ _You’re_ his direct supervisor, why would I?” Derek throws his hands up in frustration. He’s  _so_ done with this conversation. Erica sighs heavily.

“Fine, whatever. Work the grumpy, uptight schtick for all it’s worth, Derek. But before you go off on that poor kid again for being a slacker? Take a look at some of his notes. It’s one thing if you’re distracting yourself from your career because you’re too busy thinking about fucking him. Don’t ruin his before it even starts because you can’t handle that.”

“Get. Out. Erica.” Derek says through gritted teeth. Erica rolls her eyes, but complies, flouncing out of the office with an unnecessarily forceful slam of the door. Derek breathes out deeply, massaging his temples and wondering where he went wrong in his life that he has to deal with this shit before he’s even started his day. He yanks a stack of papers off the top corner of his desk, intent to start editing his drafts where he left off the night before. As he pulls the papers free, something dislodges itself from the pile, and falls with a heavy  _thunk_ to the floor. Derek glances over, staring right at a beat up composition book with the words  _Property of the one and only Stiles S. Stilinski_ scribbled across the front.

He still had the notebook. He bends down to pick it up, stopping with his finger on the spine. Surely he didn’t want to look inside, see what kind of crappy notes the kid thought were good enough without a videotape. 

Erica’s voice nagged at him in his head, condemning him to a life of spinsterhood and too many cats.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Derek flips the book open to a page in the middle, frowning at what he finds.

Eight neat columns, meticulously drawn, each labeled with a neatly highlighted category. Everything is there. Names, dates, times to the second, hell, even the duration of each behavior is filled in to the millisecond, each behavior annotated with the wolf’s nearest neighbor and distinctive markings.

Nothing is missing, and the data sheets are more complete than any he’s ever seen. Derek skips forward a couple pages, stopping when he sees a bit of drawing between two of them. Ha, so Stiles does get distracted, and starts doodling. He wrenches the book open, his heart jumping up into his throat. The page is full of drawings of the wolves, each neatly labeled with their names, identifying marks, rank, and known relatives. But these aren’t just normal field sketches, these are  _drawings_ , the wolves frozen mid-action, their eyes warm, their faces expressive as they stare up at Derek from the page. Derek’s breath catches slightly, and he touches a finger across the drawing of Bella, one of his favourite females.

After a minute, Derek turns the page again, expecting more wolves, only to find another familiar face staring up at him.

His own.

The drawing is messier than the wolves, clearly done absently. Derek imagines Stiles sketching it, maybe at the dinner table, or in between focals during the day. Pausing to stick his pencil in his mouth, chew the end before continuing, getting every detail right. Because fuck, every detail is right, his face drawn like he’s never seen it before. Heart hammering, Derek turns the next page, hoping to find pictures of other people, but wishing they aren’t there. He’s not sure how he feels about what  _is_ there.

It’s him again, inarguably him, but completely naked. Cock hard and flushed against abs that Stiles has certainly never seen, gaze cast downward at an invisible partner.

Derek can’t look away.

A knock at his office door startles him from the page, and he slams the book shut, shoving it under a pile of old journals.

“Come in,” he calls, his voice cracking over the second word.

Get it  _together_ , Hale.

He’s not some schoolboy who just found porn for the first time. So  _what_ , his student drew naked pictures of him. It’s not like students have never found him attractive before. It’s not like…

His train of thought is jolted firmly to a stop when Stiles pops his head in the office, face flaming red and looking everywhere but at Derek’s face.

Ah, shit.

He forgot about that.

 

*

 

“Uh, professor?” Stiles coughs awkwardly, after the most awkward fifteen seconds of staring that Derek has ever had to endure. He must look absolutely insane, eyes wide and startled, while Stiles tries his best to look like he hasn’t done anything wrong.

“You.” Derek starts. Then stops. He has no idea where to go next.

What was he even trying to do?

“I’m so sorry, Dr. Hale!” Stiles blurts out, his long legs propelling him forward until he’s standing at Derek’s desk, staring down into Derek’s eyes with his own wide, beseeching amber ones.

“ _You,_ ” Derek tries again, to equal levels of success. “You drew me  _naked_.” He finally hisses, sounding like a scandalized old granny even to his own ears.

“You’re, uh, you’re really hot?” Stiles justifies, then cringes, like he registered the words coming out of his own mouth.

“That is not an  _excuse_ , Mr. Stilinski. You cannot go around drawing your direct superiors  _naked_ at their  _place of work_!” Derek is two seconds away from clutching at imaginary pearls and fainting.  _Youth these days_ , he thinks to himself, and then grins ruefully. Erica is wrong, being a prof did suddenly make him that much older than everyone else.

But she is right about the other thing; Stiles is into him. He drew him  _naked_. Not that that meant anything. Derek is still a prof, and Stiles is still a student. A talented, god-damned near  _perfect_ , sarcastic, attractive…

 _Live a little_ , his inner Erica intones boredly in his brain, as though she has said so a million times before.

Well, she probably has.

“-and now you’re smiling, but that’s a really scary smile, dude, like you’re going to kill me and feed me to the wolves, but please don’t do that. They wouldn’t like me and besides, we have no idea what that would do to their systems, you know, stress levels, and we’re monitoring glucocorticoids so it’s in our best interest not to stress them out unnecessarily by feeding them disappointing students and besides I’m not really disappointing and can you please say something Dr. Hale I’m completely freaking out here and I was just going to avoid you forever and maybe die but then Scott said you wanted to see me and I figured it would be to tell me to pack my bags because I’m an embarrassment to the university and dear God don’t tell the scholarship committee why, please, Dr. Hale, I’ll do anything if we can keep this between us and – ”

“Stiles?” Derek says, holding up a hand to silence the rambling. Stiles’s mouth clicks shut, and he lets out a  _meep_ that Derek assumes means he’s listening. “You’ve never seen me naked.”

Stiles turns even redder, his eye twitching slightly. Slowly, he shakes his head.

“Do you want to see me naked?”

“Is that a trick question?” Stiles squeaks, backing up from Derek’s desk. Derek stands up slowly, walks around to the front of the desk.

“No, it’s an honest one. Do you want to see me naked?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Stiles nods, still backing up and out of the office.

“Can I tell you something, Stiles?”

Stiles lets out another meep.

“You are singlehandedly the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. Erica says I should sleep with you.”

“What?” Stiles yelps, choking on the word halfway out and flailing his arms out. He barely catches himself before he trips over his own feet and falls flat on his ass.

“What do you think, Mr. Stilinski? Because I told her I couldn’t tell you that, that if I wanted it to happen, you’d have to make the first move. Sexual harassment, you see. Power dynamic.”

“Power… dynamic?” Stiles asks weakly, plastering himself against the wall of the office. Derek nods.

“As your senior, I’d hate for you to feel like you  _owe_ it to me to reciprocate my feelings.”

“Fee… Feelings? I’m so confused. What’s happening right now? Am I still asleep? Am I hallucinating? Is this porn? This feels like porn. I swear I’ve watched porn where this happens. Are you really a professor? I knew you couldn’t be a professor, you’re way too hot about a professor. I’ve never wanted to climb a professor like a tree before but I really want to blow you and that is totally inappropriate and I am going to go die now before –  _mmph!_ ”

Derek can’t wait another second. He surges forward and captures Stiles’s lips in a searing kiss, tongue demanding entrance and all but fucking into Stiles’s mouth. Stiles melts into him, arms flying up to grab at Derek’s khaki shirt, fingers dancing across the buttons as he struggles to pry them open.

“Wait, wait,” Derek pulls back, panting, staring into Stiles’s blown pupils. His gaze flicks down to his lips, cock hardening at how puffy and red they look, even after only such a short while. 

It's officially, Derek has absolutely lost his mind. He’s making out with an undergrad at 9am on a Tuesday morning, and that means he is exactly a minute away from being carted of to the loony bin.

 _Live a little_ , the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Erica says, and he makes a noise of frustration, shakes his head to try and clear it. 

“What, no, don’t stop,” Stiles pulls him closer again, sealing their mouths together.

Well, if he’s going to get fired for sexual harassment, he might as well do some harassing worth getting fired for.

Right?

“No, wait, hold on,” Derek draws back again, pushing Stiles away with his hand to put some distance between them. “We can’t do this. It’s not appropriate. I’m your professor.”

“No you aren’t,” Stiles shoots back, trying to step closer again. Derek keeps his hand firmly on Stiles’s chest. Not too firmly. Not firmly enough that he notices the feeling of toned pectorals and a pebbling nipple under the thin cotton of Stiles’s t-shirt.

That would be crazy.

That would totally be crossing a line.

“I  _am_ ,” Derek argues. “Stop arguing with me, I’m your direct superior and you need to at least pretend to respect my authority.”

“I do,” Stiles agrees earnestly. “Want me to show you just how much I can  _respect_ your  _authority_?” He waggles his eyebrows at Derek, who groans and shuts his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“You’re a  _child_.”

“Hey! I’m 22!”

“Twenty-two year olds don’t make terrible jokes like that,” Derek counters.

“Whatever, you’re scrambling my brains with the kissing and the mixed messages here, dude! Can we just get back to – ” Stiles cuts off and lunges at Derek, who lets go of his chest reflexively in surprise. Stiles takes the opportunity to attack Derek with his mouth again, moaning when Derek’s hand finds the curve of his ass and squeezes.

Wait no, what? No, Derek was supposed to push him away, not pull him closer.

Ah, fuck it.

Derek was totally pulling him closer.

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek mumbles against Stiles’s lips as they stumble backwards towards his desk, Stiles making progress with Derek’s buttons while Derek sweeps his fingers along Stiles’s bare hipbones, moving forward to toy with the fly of his hiking pants.

“What if I blow you?” Stiles pants, kissing softly across Derek’s jawline and down his neck, long fingers trailing down his now exposed chest.

“You still can’t call me dude. I’m still your supervisor.”

Stiles’s fingers hover over Derek’s fly, and he nods imperceptibly for Stiles to continue. Stiles grins impishly as he makes quick work of the zipper, tugging Derek’s pants and boxer briefs down low enough to free his straining cock.

“You keep saying that, but it’s not true. I asked Erica. She said she was my direct supervisor, and that I had to answer to Dean Deaton, not you.”

“That traitor.” Derek grumbles. He rakes his fingers through Stiles’s messy hair, tugging lightly when Stiles turns his face into the touch.

“Mmm.” Stiles fits his mouth over the head of Derek’s cock, flicks his tongue out to play with the tip.

“Ah,  _shit,_ Stiles!” Derek chokes out as Stiles brings a hand up to grip the base of Derek’s dick, his other hand holding Derek’s hip to the back of the desk. Stiles looks as obscene as Derek thought he would, kiss-bruised lips stretched wide as he bobs his head to take Derek deeper.

“I’m still  _– shit_ –“ Derek cuts off as his dick hits the back of Stiles’s throat. “I’m still destroying your data. This isn’t going to get you any special treatment.”

Stiles pulls off with a wet pop, glares at Derek in a way that would be intimidating if spit and precum weren’t smeared across his chin.

“If I didn’t find the fact that you’re literally the biggest asshole on the planet such a turn on, a comment like that would make me leave right now.”

Derek shrugs.

“Just making sure we’re on the same page. If we do this, it has nothing to do with the sanctuary, your research, or your attitude.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you buzzkill. Can I get back to your dick now, or would you like to remind me of more ways that you’re the only person on the planet with the concept of professional boundaries?”

Derek rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, of course, how silly of me,” Stiles mutters. He leans back and swipes his tongue across the head of Derek’s dick, making it twitch in his firm grasp. “Actually, you know what?”

Derek groans again. Not a single one of his illicit fantasies featured a Stiles quite this argumentative.

Except maybe one.

Or two?

Who was he trying to kid, he fantasized more about arguing with Stiles than he did about fucking him.

“I resent your implication that I’m doing this so that I can use my data. Which, for the record, is  _great_. Erica said so. But whatever, this is so not about my data.” Stiles stands up, pushes himself into Derek’s face aggressively, a finger jabbing into Derek’s chest. “So stop being such a sanctimonious douchebag about my data, you… sanctimonious douchebag.”

“Really clever, Mr. Stilinski,” Derek drawls.

He’s not egging Stiles on to get more of that heated glare.

Nope, Derek would never do that.

Stiles squints at him.

“Don’t think I don’t know your game,  _Doctor_ Hale.” Stiles hisses, dragging out Derek’s title in a purr that sends blood rushing straight to his dick. “You want to fuck me? Own it. Don’t make this about me, dude.”

It’s Derek’s turn to squint at Stiles. Own it? He wanted Derek to own it?

“Don’t call me  _dude,_ ” Derek growls, whirling them around so that Stiles is against the desk, Derek’s mouth hot against his neck. He scrapes his teeth less-than lightly across Stiles’s pulse point, then draws back to yank Stiles’s t-shirt. “Fine, I’ll  _own_ it. I’ve wanted to fuck you since you got to this fucking sanctuary, and you’ve been pushing my buttons since then. Want me to own that? Or the fact that you’re angling for this as much as I am? In fact, I wouldn’t put it past you that you’re deliberately forgetting shit when you take data, just to wind me up further. Just to make me mad, so that, what, so I’ll do this?” Derek punctuates his speech by pushing his thigh up against Stiles’s groin, smirking at the bulge he can feel past the half-undone fly.

“So do it,” Stiles pants, riding Derek’s thigh for all it’s worth. “Fuck me.”

Derek worms a hand between them, tears open the zipper and reaches for Stiles’s cock.

“Yeah, with what?” Derek works Stiles’s cock roughly, thumb smearing a bead of precum down the shaft.

“I’ve got a condom and lube in my wallet,” Stiles pants.

“Wait, what?” Derek pulls back suddenly, leaving Stiles breathing harshly and still moving his hips in tiny, aborted thrusts. “Why the fuck do you have a condom and lube with you right now?”

“I’m a red-blooded college-aged male, I always have a condom and lube. Come on, Derek, I know you’re old, but surely you remember your boyscout days.” Stiles smirks, reaching into his back pocket and tossing a worn leather wallet onto the desk beside them.

Derek’s too flabbergasted to do anything but shove at Stiles’s shoulder until he’s bent over the desk, Derek yanking roughly at his pants and boxers until they’re pooled at his ankles.

Stiles’s ass is everything he imagined it to be. Round, firm, dotted with moles and freckles, and practically begging for Derek to fuck into. Stiles shoves a packet of lube into Derek’s hands, and he wastes no time in spreading Stiles’s cheeks, watching his pucker spasm, desperate to be filled.

Well, Derek has no problem obliging.

He starts slowly, opening Stiles up with one finger, adding a second, stretching them apart until Stiles is pushing back against them, trying to pull Derek deeper. Derek smirks, curls a finger inside Stiles to rub over his prostate, his dick jumping when Stiles answers with a loud moan and arched back.

By the time he’s worked his third finger into Stiles, he can’t decide if he wants to make Stiles come like this, writhing on his fingers, or on his dick.

“I’m…  _Fuck_ … I’m ready, you ass _hole!_ ” Stiles chokes on the last word when Derek pushes his fingers in particularly roughly.

“That’s not a nice thing to call the guy about to fuck you,” Derek taunts, pulling all three fingers out and watching as Stiles’s hole flutters closed.

“Don’t… No, stop, what are you doing, don’t stop.” Stiles pushes back into Derek’s hands. Derek obliges, running his palms slowly over the swell of Stiles’s ass, letting his thumbs dip between his cheeks and press back into him.

“This what you want?” Derek asks, bending forward to speak directly into Stiles’s ear, his nose nuzzling gently into Stiles’s hair. Stiles shakes his head, whines.

“No? What do you want, Mr. Stilinski?” Derek asks, moving one of his hands forward to stroke over Stiles’s hard cock, which is leaking all over a stack of term papers. Derek has never cared less about the welfare of his students’ essays.

 “Fuck me,” Stiles chokes out, rutting forward into Derek’s hand. “Please?”

“Please who?” Derek smiles, enjoying this. If he’s going to academic Hell, he might as well enjoy his journey.

“Please, Derek!”

“Hmm, no, that doesn’t sound right,” Derek smiles wider, releases Stiles’s cock and pushes three fingers back into his hole. “Try again.”

“Please… Please, Dr. Hale!” Stiles cries out as Derek rubs his fingers over Stiles’s prostate again.

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it.” Derek will never admit it, but he can’t get enough of the way Stiles says it, the thrill of knowing that this is a student under him, young and impressionable and so, so, lively.

“I’ll show you so hard,” Stiles mumbles against the wood of the desk, as though to prove Derek’s point. Derek can’t help the bubble of laughter that escapes at that. He shakes his head to himself as he pulls the condom off the desk, ripping open the package and sliding it on himself before slicking himself up. It’s no use denying it any more. He’s head over heels for Stiles Stilinski, and he’s about to fuck the ever living daylights out of him, and love every goddamned second. He moves forward, nudging at Stiles with the blunt head of his cock.

“Ready?” He asks. Stiles nods frantically, hand flying back to tug at Derek’s thigh as though to pull him closer.

Derek punches into Stiles in a single, deep thrust, bottoming out smoothly while Stiles keens and lets his forehead drop forward onto the wood of Derek’s desk. Derek doesn’t move for a second,  _can’t_ move for a second, struggling to control himself with Stiles clenching around his length, all heat and slick and perfect.

“Derek,” Stiles grits out, shoving himself backward, trying to fuck himself on Derek’s dick as though he weren’t already pressed flush against the kid. “ _Move_.”

Derek wants to snark back, argue with him in that way that makes this all that much better, but he can’t for the life of him think of anything to say. Instead he just nods dumbly, even though Stiles can’t see it, and pulls back, snapping his hips forward brutally. Stiles moans loudly, one hand bracing himself against the desk while the other tenses around Derek’s thigh. Derek sets a harsh pace, not having the wherewithal to take this slowly even if he had wanted to. Stiles gives as good as he gets, arching back into Derek’s thrusts, until Derek reaches around and grabs Stiles across the chest, hauling him up so that his back is flush against Derek.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles moans, his now free hand flying down to work his own cock. “Don’t… Don’t stop.”

Derek mouths at Stiles’s neck, runs his other hand across Stiles’s chest to tweak his nipples.

“Wasn’t going to,” he breathes raggedly into Stiles’s ear. “Stop telling me what to do, I’m still your superior.”

“Stop… arguing with me while you’re…” Stiles cuts off as Derek pounds into him harder.

“While I’m what?” Derek pants. He’s close, he can feel his orgasm low in his belly as he thrusts into Stiles without abandon, beads of sweat dripping down his hair onto Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles doesn’t answer, just cries out as he comes. His orgasm sends Derek over the edge, ass clenching around Derek’s cock and body going lax in Derek’s arms.

Derek hasn’t come that hard in  _years_.

They both fall forward, Derek mouthing at the knobs of Stiles’s spine as he pulls out slowly, both of them wincing at the feeling.

“Fuck.” Stiles mutters. Derek ties off the condom and tosses into the trash, tucking himself back into his pants and buttoning up his shirt hastily. Stiles doesn’t move, still shirtless with his pants around his ankles, ass up and face against the desk.

Derek clears his throat. Stiles turns his head to look at him over his shoulder, then straightens up and fixes his pants while staring at Derek with a scrutinizing, almost curious look. He makes no move to get his shirt, and Derek watches the splotches of flushed skin across his chest slowly fade as he catches his breath.

“So.” Derek clears his throat again, a palpable awkwardness settling between them. “I, uh. I trust this will stay between us, Stiles?”

Stiles bobs his head, shoves his hands into his pocket before withdrawing one hastily and pulling a face.

“Eugh, I still have jizz on my hand.” He waves it in front of Derek, who catches it and grabs a tissue from the box on his desk to wipe down Stiles’s hand.

The action brings them closer together again, and Derek can see Stiles’s gaze flit from his eyes to his lips.

“Between us, right?” Derek repeats, hoping that Stiles understands the importance of the issue. “You can’t go parading this around to the other undergrads. It’s not… It’s not against the rules, explicitly, but it would reflect poorly on me and I don’t want to develop a reputation or feed any rumor mills or – ”

“Do you regret it?” Stiles blurts suddenly, cutting Derek off. Derek blinks at him, eyebrows drawing down.

“I…” Derek feels the  _yes_ forming on his tongue, the perfect excuse to stop this before it snowballs, to send Stiles back to where he belongs with the students his age and return to his lonely life as a full-time academic and official department hermit. Stiles is staring directly at him, though, face inches away, hand still caught between his. “I…” He tries again, choking on the  _yes_ he’s trying desperately to push out. “No.”

It’s out before he can stop it, and he doesn’t want to take it back as soon as he sees Stiles’s face break out in a blinding smile.

“Neither do I. I know it’s unconventional, dude, and I promise I’m not going to take advantage, but like… I want to do this again, you know? It was pretty hot.”

“Just pretty hot?” Derek asks, quirking an eyebrow, trying to ignore his heart pounding doubletime against his ribcage.

“Well, you know,” Stiles shrugs. “Gotta leave room for improvement, right, teach? Never give ‘em an A on the first go round, or they’ll start slacking.”

Derek groans.

“You’re impossible,” he says, but it sounds fond, rather than annoyed, and he can’t decide if he’d rather smack Stiles upside the head or kiss him stupid.

“Whatever,” Stiles grins smugly. “Don’t even pretend you don’t get off on it,  _Doctor_ Hale.”

Definitely the former, Derek thinks, rolling his eyes as he pulls Stiles closer. As soon as he’s finished with the latter.

 

-End-

**Author's Note:**

> I do the thing at [seemscee.tumblr.com](http://www.seemscee.tumblr.com) because I constantly look for things to distract me from actually writing the dissertation that eventually I should probably write.


End file.
